


Crumbs of Affection

by machine_dove



Series: Wilton's Bakery 'verse [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Canon Disabled Character, Chronic Illness, Fluff, Homeless Vet Bucky, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Non-Canon Disability, Original Ficus Character, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Self-Directed Ableist Language, Steve uses Bad Language words, Tiny Angry Celiac Steve, celiac disease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-03 10:51:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5287886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/machine_dove/pseuds/machine_dove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve sighed, content to lay where he was for the moment and catalogue his bruises.  “Today,” he said out loud, “has been utter shit.”</p><p>“Yea, tell me about it, pal,” said another voice, far closer than anyone had any right to be.  </p><p>Steve flailed as he tried to get up, managing to crack his head on something sharp in the process.</p><p>“OW!  That was my chin, you absolute maniac.  You think you could get offa me now without breaking me any further?  I’ve only got the one arm, pal, and you’re laying on it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A thousand thanks to [Sproings](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sproings/pseuds/Sproings) and [Kalibear](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalibear/pseuds/Kalibear) for outstanding beta work and being willing to join me in making poor life choices.

It had been a shit day, to round out a shit week, and a shit month, and a whole fucking year of shit, and this?  This right here might just be the last straw

The “this” in question was a crouton.  Square, innocuous, golden-brown, sitting mockingly in the middle of his salad like it fucking belonged there.  Like it wasn’t a poisonous time-bomb lurking there, needing only the tiniest crumb to pass his lips before it took its revenge and left him sick and suffering for days.  Weeks, the asshole.

“Fucking gluten,” Steve said as he waved his waiter over.

“I’m sorry, but I need you to take this back and have them remake it.  I can’t eat this, I’ll get sick.”  There was nothing quite like the feeling of sharing entirely too much of your medical history with underpaid waitstaff.  And Steve’s medical history was especially long and colorful, from the scoliosis and asthma he had thankfully mostly outgrown to a laundry list of strange and seemingly unrelated symptoms ranging from his hair falling out to dry eyes.  Those were eventually, after more years and visits to the doctor than Steve really wanted to think about, discovered to be linked to celiac disease.  At least his job had good health insurance, even if that might be the only thing good about it.

The thunk of a plate hitting the table in front of him brought him back to the present.  A familiar plate.  In fact, it was identical in every way to the salad they had just taken away, minus the crouton, down to the crumbs where the offending garnish had once sat.  It had been only moments since they took it away, and it was clear that the only thing they had done was pick the crouton off.

If only it were that easy.

Steve ran his hand through his hair and looked back up at his waiter.  “Look, this just isn’t going to work.  Even a tiny crumb is enough to…”  

He trailed off when he saw the waiter roll his eyes.  Rage boiled up in him, but he tamped it back down firmly.  

“Look, can you just let me talk to your manager, or the head chef?”

The waiter smirked.  “Sure thing, boss.  I’m sure he’d love to hear all about your special snowflake diet.”

Oh, there was the rage again.  Steve was starting to feel less sympathetic for this particular underpaid restaurant employee.  It seemed like everything today was just adding to the stress of the day (week, month, year), and it was already all he could do to stay civil.  Work had been a nightmare - more of a nightmare than usual - and he had managed to lose a client today.  That wasn’t all that unusual, really, but being told that they weren’t going to pay him for his work because the client’s dog didn’t like it was a new low.  Another client had expected a miracle, gotten it, and still wasn’t happy.  And Steve was going to have to get back up and do it all over again tomorrow.

It was shit.  Everything about it was shit.  And every person who ever told him to do what he loved and it would never feel like work needed a boot up the ass for it.

He sensed more than heard someone approaching - his hearing was another thing that wasn’t so great.  Not so bad that he needed hearing aids, but enough that he had to really focus to hear though the Thursday night buzz.

“So, I hear you’ve got a problem with our food.”  Judging by the jacket, this was the head chef.  He was also, by conservative estimate, approximately twice Steve’s size, but the cherry on the shit-cake that was this week was the button on the chef’s jacket that proclaimed him to be “Gluten-Free Intolerant.”

Steve willed himself calm.  “Yea, I have celiac disease, I can’t eat glu-”

“I’ll tell you what you can fucking eat.”  The chef poked one meaty finger into Steve’s chest as he cut him off.  “You fucking hipsters and your fucking fad diets can fuck right off.  It’s all ‘gluten-free this’ and ‘casein-free that’ and pureblood grassfed baby fucking alpacas, and I’m fucking sick of it.  You want food, you can eat some real fucking food.”  

He poked Steve again to emphasize his point.

“But you don’t understand, I have an autoimmune dis…”

“I don’t care about whatever imaginary justification you may have, eat your fucking food or leave.”

“Okay then.”  Steve stood up, shrugged on his jacket, and gathered the tattered strands of his self-control as he turned to leave.

He tried, he really did.  But the muttered “yea, that’s what I thought” from behind him was one straw too many, and Steve found himself planting his feet, pivoting, and punching the chef right in the face before his brain kicked in to tell him what a spectacularly bad idea it was.

The next couple of minutes were a bit of a blur, until Steve found himself bodily thrown out of the restaurant onto something that was too soft to be pavement.  Too warm, too, but his eyes were already starting to swell shut - both of them this time, his roommate Bernie was going to be thrilled.  At least they hadn’t called the cops on him, which was when Roommate Bernie turned into Terrifying Shark Lawyer Bernie and also made his life a living hell.

He sighed, content to lay where he was for the moment and catalogue his bruises.  “Today,” he said out loud, “has been utter shit.”

“Yea, tell me about it, pal,” said another voice, far closer than anyone had any right to be.  

Steve flailed as he tried to get up, managing to crack his head on something sharp in the process.

“OW!  That was my chin, you absolute maniac.  You think you could get offa me now without breaking me any further?  I’ve only got the one arm, pal, and you’re laying on it.”

“Oh, uh - I’m sorry.  Just...hold on.”  After what felt like entirely too long and some unintentional groping of what felt like a spectacular set of pectorals, Steve managed to disentangle himself and pry his eyes open.  

“You’re gorgeous!”  he said, mouth again working before his brain could be bothered.

The other man smirked.  “And you’re good for my ego, although I think we need to worry about that bump to your head if crippled trash can chic is your thing.”

A second glance just confirmed Steve’s initial impression.  Sure, his hair could use a wash and his clothes had definitely seen better days, but he was still heart-stoppingly gorgeous in a way even the lines of too much stress and too little comfort on his face could disguise.  And his lips were sheer poetry.  Seductive, filthy poetry.  And he really, really needed to stop thinking about those lips or things were going to get even more embarrassing really, really fast.

“You just going to sit there with your mouth open or are you going to introduce yourself?  I gotta admit, you’re definitely the nicest thing I’ve gotten thrown in my lap for a while.  I’d take you over spare change any day.”

That...wasn’t helping Steve stay focused.  

“Ah...Steve.  I’m Steve.”  He stuck his hand out to shake before remembering the one-arm comment earlier, but the other man just grabbed it right as he started to awkwardly pull it back.

“Nice to meet ya, Stevie.  My name is James, but a punk as pretty as you?  You can call me Bucky.”

“Jerk.”  Steve scowled reflexively.  “Maybe you’re the one who needs to get his eyes checked.  I know what I look like on normal days, and bruises don’t help.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, sugar.  Pull up some pavement, sit a while.  I don’t think you’re going to want to walk far with those bruises anyway.”

Steve grimaced as he shifted.  “Well, you’re not wrong.”

“My lap’s pretty comfy too if the ground’s too hard.”  Bucky’s exaggerated eyebrow waggle on top of the ridiculous line was enough to make Steve laugh.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve smiled all week,” he said with a sigh.

“So tell me about it.  My friends tell me I’m a pretty good listener.”

“Friends?”

“Hey, I’m homeless and armless, not friendless.”  Bucky poked at Steve’s ribs to emphasize his point, but he did it with such good humor that it completely failed to set Steve off the way the chef had earlier.

“Some friends, if they’re letting you live on the street.”

“Nobody lets me do anything, pal, not anymore.”  Bucky’s voice took on an edge that matched the glint in his eyes.  “I’m more than capable of making my own choices, and right now this is what I’ve chosen.  I could make a couple of phone calls right now and have a dozen couches open, and another call to get my name on a list for a transition housing program.  I’ve got choices now.”

“Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep.  Can I ask why you’ve made this choice?”

Bucky grinned, fast and bright as a lightning strike.  “Not yet, Stevie, we don’t know each other that well yet.  But I’d kinda like to.”

Steve laughed.  “I’d...I’d like that too.  A lot.”

“That means it’s your turn, pal.  I want this relationship to be about giving and taking in turn.”  

Bucky’s grin made the last bit positively filthy with innuendo, and Steve’s cheeks colored again.

“I guess you’re right.  What do you want to know?”

“Tell me about your shit day.  I mean, it’s not everybody who can manage to start a barfight in a bistro, and I used to be Special Forces.”

Steve filed that away to ask about later.  “It’s kind of a long story.  Just...people, you know?  Or more specifically, clients.”

“And what is it you do for these clients?”

Really, Bucky was far too good at drawing him out.  “I do graphic design.  It was supposed to be fun.  It used to be fun, taking something mundane and turning it into art.  I mean, if you’ve seen one menu you’ve seen them all, right?”  

Bucky nodded as Steve warmed up to his subject.

“But the right design, the right colors, the right typeface - it can all set the stage, put you in the mood, like...like mood lighting, or background music.  It’s like the difference between an off-the-rack suit and a tailored three-piece.  Sure, they both do the job, but the second does the job with style.”

His hands flew, moving rapidly as he continued.  “But then you get the people who come in, and want to hire me for my expertise, because I know what I’m doing, but then want to micromanage the entire process, and make the stupidest choices!  Just last week I was working on a website for a reception hall, where they hold weddings and classy galas.  The page I designed was gorgeous, all cream and slate with sharp serifs.  They take one look at it and tell me that they love it, it’s perfect, but it would be more perfect if I changed the Didot font to Comic Sans.   _Comic Sans, Bucky!_ ”

“I have no idea what that is, but I share your outrage.”  Bucky’s smirk only drew Steve’s attention back to his lower lip.

“Shaddup, you.  I lost a client today.  A client who was _supposed_ to pay my rent for the month.  And you want to know why?”

“I’m dying to know why, Stevie.”

“Don’t mock me, I will not be mocked about this.  Her dog didn’t like it.  Her dog!  I lost out on a huge contract because this woman’s vicious teacup poodle wasn’t entranced by the invitations I designed for her gala.  Not because they didn’t suit the tone, or because they didn’t match with what she had in mind, but because her _dog_ didn’t care.”

Bucky’s laugh was warm and rich enough that Steve wanted to somehow wrap himself up in it.  It was infectious too, and Steve found himself chuckling along, some of the stress from the day just fading away in Bucky’s easy company.

“And then, one of my other clients calls up, with an urgent request.  More like a demand.  He wanted this huge project finished before the end of the day.  It was probably fifteen hours of work, and I only had ten hours left to get it finished - lucky for me he’s in Oregon, so at least the time difference worked for me this time and not against.  I pulled every shortcut I could and somehow managed to get it done.  Not up to my usual standards, but there was only so much I could do.  So I call him, let him know I finished, and you know what he said then?”

“I have no idea.”

“He said, and I quote, ‘it took you long enough.’  If I coulda punched him through the telephone I would have.”

“Fucking clients, eh?”

“ _Fucking_ clients.  So here I am, getting out of work late as hell, my usual stops aren’t open and I don’t have time to cook myself something because I have to be awake in six hours to go back to work and do it all over again, so I stop into this shithole for a salad.  I mean, how hard is it to not fuck up a salad?  Don’t put croutons on it.  That was the only thing I asked.  Don’t put _fucking croutons_ on it, because they’ll kill me.  I haven’t eaten since 11AM, and I’m fucking starving, and these assholes can’t even manage to make a fucking salad without fucking croutons.”

“Croutons, eh?  So you allergic to bread or something?”

“Gluten intolerant.  Which doesn’t sound as bad, but it means that one fucking crouton touching my fucking salad is enough to make me sick for weeks.  I just don’t want my food to kill me, is that really all that unreasonable?”

Steve turned his best puppy-dog eyes to Bucky, who blushed.   _Score one for Steve_ , he thought, happy to finally get his turn to fluster the other man.

“Nah, it’s not unreasonable at all.  You know, I think I might be able to help you out, if you don’t mind walkin’ with me for a bit.  I promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

“Don’t strain yourself too hard there.”

Bucky laughed.  “No, really.  A buddy of mine owns a bakery not too far from here.  They have a whole special gluten free setup.  He’ll be asleep now since they get up stupid early, but I have a key.  We can grab you a muffin or a cupcake or something.  I mean, it’s not salad out of a bag, but it’ll do in a pinch, right?”

“Are you sure?  I mean, they’d be okay with that?  I’m not sure if -”

“Hey, Wade’s an old army buddy of mine.  He’s a little fucked in the head, but he trusts me or he wouldn’t have given me a key.  I help out sometimes, cover things when he or his partner have PT, sometimes crash on the sofa if it’s raining too much.”

Steve looked at Bucky, long and considering.  He found himself wanting to trust the other man, who clearly had his own issues but still managed to be so warm and open.  It had been a long, long time since he had connected this much with someone.  And, well, if worse came to worse, Bucky was welcome to what he had in his wallet, his day couldn’t get much shittier.

Mustering his courage, Steve nodded.  “Sure, as long as you promise not to murder me in a dark alley.”

Bucky grinned as he rose to his feet.  “Pal, if I do something to you in a dark alley it’s not going to be murder.”

“Big words,” Steve said as he grabbed Bucky’s outstretched hand.  He was blushing again, but that didn’t stop him from rubbing his thumb across the back of Bucky’s hand.  “I get the feeling that you like to talk.”

“Oh, I like to do more than just talk.”

“Like walking?  I was promised cupcakes.  And let me tell you, it’s been a long time since I’ve had a cupcake I could actually eat.”

“Good thing you’re sweet enough without them,” Bucky said as he bumped Steve with his shoulder.  

“Do you flirt with everyone you meet, or am I just special?”

“I’m definitely a flirt, but you’re also pretty special.  I mean, it’s not every day I get a little blonde ball of rage landing on top of me.  And also, you started it.”

“Me?”

“You.  Called me gorgeous.  Most people don’t even look at me, just look past me or through me like I’m invisible.  You don’t...you can’t understand what that’s like, feeling like you’re not even real.  And when people do notice you, it’s never anything good, it’s always the assholes who want to start a fight or the ones who just want you gone, like you’re trash.  Less than dirt.”

He stopped abruptly, grabbing Steve’s shoulder to spin him around.  “You saw me.  And I was someone to you, and you took the time to talk to me, and you’re gorgeous and funny and I feel so, so lucky that those assholes fucked up your salad and pissed you off and I wish your face wasn’t all busted up but the fact that it is meant that I had the chance to meet you.  I’ve got friends, Stevie, but none of them are you.”

Steve found himself completely at a loss for words.  “Buck...I…”

“Hey, I promised you pastries, and we’ve still got a couple of blocks to go.  C’mon!”

Just like that, the heavy atmosphere lifted, but Steve filed away what he had said to think about later.  

The bakery, once they got there, didn’t look like much on the outside, but the inside was oddly endearing.  Eclectic was probably a good description, from the framed circus posters to the wall covered in chalkboard paint and doodles.  There was even a bow mounted over the register, which was unexpected.

Bucky locked the door behind them and led Steve into the back, past the door that led to the main kitchen, and into a smaller separate kitchen.  

“It’s got its own separate air system and everything,” Bucky said.  “I helped another buddy of mine install it.  Keeps the, whatsit, the flour in the air from getting into everything here.”

“I’m actually impressed they thought of that,” Steve said.  “I have to admit, I was kind of nervous, but it looks like they know their stuff.”

Bucky was rummaging around inside a large fridge, moving things around and pulling out several small containers.  “You gotta try these.  Chocolate curry cupcakes.  Some of Wade’s creations are weird as hell, but these actually came out amazing.”

Steve looked doubtful, but took a bite anyway.  The cake was soft, but only a little crumbly, and unlike most gluten free goodies wasn’t so heavy that it could be used as a weapon in a pinch.  The curry spices mingled oddly with the chocolate, but it was an oddness that improved with each bite.  

“You’re sure these aren’t gluten free?  I’m not going to wake up tomorrow with horrible cramps?”

“I’m not going to steer you wrong, Steve.  Trust me?”

“You know, I really do.”

There was a long pause, and then Bucky said, “You know, you have a bit of chocolate just on the side of your mouth.”

Steve swiped at his face.

“No, other side.  A little higher.  Just...here, let me.”  Bucky leaned in nice and slow, telegraphing his intentions and watching Steve closely for any sign of hesitation.  There was none at all, and Steve leaned in to close the distance between them.

The kiss was slow, soft, almost questioning.  Steve delighted in the taste of chocolate, curry, and Bucky himself.  He drew back slowly, and looked up at Bucky with a serious expression.

“I...I want..”

“Anything, Stevie, anything at all.”

“A date.  I want to take you out on a date.  A real one, where we can talk, so I can get to know you more.”

Bucky looked - gobsmacked was probably the best word.  “You’d want that?  With me?”

“Of course I do!”  Every line of his body projected his earnestness.  “I want to hear more about your friends, about your life, anything and everything that you’re willing to share with me.”

“But I’m not - I’m a bum, Steve.  I’m a mess and I live on the streets because it’s easier than living in my head and you’re just so good.  I thought you’d want, I don’t know, a blowjob or something.  One night.”

“If one night’s all you want, Buck, I’ll give you that.  But it’s not all I want.”

The look on his face was impossible for Steve to interpret in the soft half-light.  The sob that tore out of Bucky’s throat caught him off-guard, as did the arm that pulled him roughly against Bucky’s chest.  

“How are you real,” he whispered into Steve’s hair.  “I don’t deserve you, but I want to.”

Steve ran his hands up and down Bucky’s back.  “You deserve the world.”

“I don’t, though.  I’m bad, Steve, bad all the way through.  The things I’ve done…”

“You can tell me about them sometime, yea?  I’m not going to ask, but you can tell me anything.  And I don’t believe for a minute that you’re bad.  A bad person wouldn’t have brought me to his friend’s bakery for cupcakes at ten o’clock at night.  If you were bad you’d have shoved me offa you earlier and let me go on my way.”

Bucky didn’t say anything in response, just grabbed on tighter, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

Steve wasn’t sure how long they stood there, Bucky clinging to him like an anchor, but he couldn’t grudge a second of it.  Bucky was warm and real in his arms, realer than any of his clients or their stupid dogs, realer than anything in his life had felt for longer than he wanted to admit to himself.  When Bucky finally pulled away, he looked lighter than he had, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

“I don’t know what to say.  Steve, I…”

“Say you’ll go out with me.  Tomorrow.  My bruises are going to look even more spectacular than they do right now, and that’s not something you want to miss.”

Bucky’s whole face went soft as he put his hand up to Steve’s face.  “You’re right about that, punk.  You’ve got yourself a date.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve takes Bucky out on a date

“I’m sorry, I must not have heard you right.  You did  what ?”

Steve sighed as he ran his hand through his hair.  “It’s fine, Bernie.  I’m  fine .”

“Clearly you’re not, the bruises on your face are proof of that.  Bad enough that you manage to get into yet another fight - what if they press charges?  I’d rather never have to see you in a courtroom again, thanks.”   


“Bern-”

She continued over him, just starting to pick up steam.  “And then, after getting actually thrown out of a restaurant, you what?  Land on some bum, chat with him a bit, and then follow him off to who knows where in the middle of the damn night?”

“It wasn’t like th-”

“He could have been taking you anywhere, Steve!  Maybe he wanted to murder you.  Maybe he wanted to sell you to some pimp, or some  _organ farmer_ !”

“Bucky’s not like that,” Steve finally got out, but it didn’t do much to mollify his roommate.

“And how the hell would you know that, Steve?  You’ve known him for all of thirty seconds.  He could be anybody.  He could be violent, he could be a murderer, he could be an addict!”

“He’s not!”

“He was certainly eager enough to get you off by yourself.  And you let him!”

“Yea, I did.  And I knew it might not have gone the way I wanted it to, but...aurgh!  We just clicked, Bernie.  I don’t know what else to tell you.  He made my whole shitty day better just by being there.”

“Steve, you don’t know anything about him.  He could be a con artist, a felon, a dealer-”

“You’re right.  I don’t know much about him, not yet.  And that’s something I plan to fix tonight.”

“I swear, you’re the stubbornest asshole I’ve ever met.  Why are we even friends again?”

“Because you moved into the apartment upstairs from me when we were ten and I’m a stubborn asshole who wouldn’t leave you alone?”

Bernie smiled at that, some of the tension easing from her shoulders.  “When I told you to go out and get laid, this wasn’t quite what I meant.”

“Since when did I ever do things the usual way?  And I haven’t gotten laid.”

“Yet.  But I want to meet him for myself.”

“Bernie!”

“Don’t Bernie me!  The angry ghost of Sarah Rogers would come back to haunt me for the rest of my life if I let you go and something terrible happened.”

Steve smiled, faint and sad.  “I still don’t understand why you think she was so scary.  She was the sweetest person in the world.”

“Maybe, but she was also the most terrifying person I have ever met in my life, especially to anyone she thought might hurt you.  I was afraid to take the stairs alone for months after we broke up in high school!”

“It wasn’t like she was going to jump out of the shadows with a knife.”

“You don’t know that!  She was scary.”

“Well don’t scare Bucky off.  I really like him, Bern.”

“If he gets scared off by little old me, then he wasn’t worth your time.”  Bernie twirled, laughing a little.  “Look at me, delicate, sweet, and perfectly harmless.  Now give me your cell phone while you go get ready for your date, I need to grill my witness.”

“Don’t grill him,” Steve yelled just before he closed the bathroom door.  “He’s my date, not your witness!”

He sighed as he turned on the shower.  Bernie was the best friend, best ex, and best roommate he could have ever asked for, but being her oldest friend meant that she still remembered the times when he was so weak he couldn’t get out of bed without help, and it sometimes seemed like she still saw him as the sick child he had been when they met.  Still, she meant well and he genuinely trusted her to have his best interests at heart.  And worrying about Bernie was safer than worrying about his upcoming date with Bucky.

Steve groaned as he knocked his head into the shower wall.  His date with Bucky.  Who was gorgeous, and sweet, and funny, and thoughtful, but was also almost a perfect stranger.  Steve had known him for less than a day. The whole previous night felt a little like a dream, and he had spent quite a bit of time earlier second guessing himself and wondering if he was making a terrible, terrible mistake.  The rest of the time had been spent trying to control himself as the sense memory of that kiss asserted itself in vivid technicolor.  It really hadn’t been the most productive day.

The worry that he might have read things wrong was why he had given Bernie his phone, with Bucky’s contact details.  Bernie was better at reading people than anyone else he knew, even without the benefit of a face-to-face interaction, and he had learned to trust her instincts.  

He hadn’t taken her warnings seriously a time or two before, and he had the regrets to prove it.  Brock had been terrible, and the less said about Sinthea the better.  And last night - he had talked a lot, but Bucky hadn’t really opened up the same way.  It had just been so good to have someone who actually listened, and seemed to care.  And then they had gone to the bakery, and what the hell had he been thinking?  Bucky could have taken him anywhere, done anything, and he would have just followed him to his doom like a helpless baby duckling.

“I’M A HELPLESS BABY DUCKLING, BERNIE!”

“I KNOW.  NOW SHUT UP, I’M INTERROGATING BUCKY,” she shouted back.

“I,” he said conversationally to his shampoo bottle, “am an absolute idiot.”

 

 

* * *

 

When he emerged from his room, freshly showered and dressed for his date, Bernie gave him a once-over before handing back his phone.  

“You’ll do,” she said, “and I don’t hate him yet.  But I have his contact details, a current picture, his social security number, and the name and personal phone number of the owner of that bakery, so if he murders you I’ll be able to track him down and take sweet, sweet judicial revenge for your death.”

Steve stared at his phone for a second.  “...picture?”

“Don’t worry, I already set it as his contact picture for you.  And damn, I can see why you like him, that _jaw!_ ”

“It’s not that!”

“Uh huh, I’m sure he’s a puppy in human form with a heart of gold, but those lips don’t hurt to look at either.”

The flush that had started in his cheeks spread further.  “I hate you.  If you scared him off…”

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about there,” she said with a laugh.  “I think he likes you, Stevie.  Which just goes to show that he has good taste.  And now he knows that you have friends who will hunt him down if anything happens to you as well.”  

Steve laughed.  “Thanks Bern, you’re the best.”

“I know.  Did you know that bakery sold cookies with wasps in them?”

 

 

* * *

 

He was late, because of course he was, and Bucky was already waiting by the time Steve got to where they had decided to meet.  Bucky was every bit as gorgeous as he had been the night before, and was attracting far more attention from passers-by than he had then.  He had clearly showered and shaved, and his clothes looked comfortably worn instead of battered.   There weren’t words to describe the way he lit up when he saw Steve.

“STEVE!” he yelled, throwing one arm around his shoulders, rough enough that Steve almost staggered.  “Christ, you were not lying about those bruises.”

“Shaddup you!  I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“Nah, I just got here early.  I was kind of excited, you know?”

Steve nodded.  “Yea, uh, me too.”

As Steve led them down the sidewalk, Bucky looked over at him again.  “So you didn’t tell me where we were going tonight.”

“Nope.”  Steve grinned a little.

“Is that all you’re going to give me?  You’re going to have to tell me at some point, you know.” 

“All I’m going to tell you is that this is a make or break it moment, Buck.  I’m going to be judging you based on how you react.”

“Oh, it’s going to be like that then?”

“Yep.”

Bucky grinned back then.  “Well, alright.  I hope I pass your test.  And speaking of judging, that roommate of yours…”

Steve groaned.  “Bernie’s kind of protective of me.  I’m sorry if she gave you a hard time.”

“Nah, don’t even worry about it.  I kinda understand where she’s coming from,” he said, leaning over to kiss the top of Steve’s head.

Steve flushed red to his roots, which seemed to be a chronic thing when he was around Bucky.  “Shaddup, I’m not a kid.”

“No you’re not,” Bucky said, admiration in his eyes.  That did nothing at all to help with Steve’s blushing problem.

They walked on in silence for another block or two when Bucky perked up.

“Hey, the baseball stadium’s down this way!”

“Is it?”  Steve’s voice was bland and noncommittal.

Bucky grabbed him by the shoulder to stop him.  “Steve!  This is important, you gotta tell me.  Are we going to a baseball game?”

“I...yea?  I mean, is that okay?  It’s not like a trigger or anything is-”

Steve’s questions cut off when Bucky grabbed him again in a rough hug and pulled Steve’s face into his chest.  

“Steve, you are the best person I have ever met.  Can I keep you?  Nevermind, I’m keeping you.  Your scary roommate might be able to take me in a fight, though.  Maybe she’ll let me arm-wrestle for you.  As long as she’s not left-handed, I don’t think I’d win left-handed arm-wrestling.”

“You’re an idiot,” Steve laughed.  “So you like baseball?”

“I love it!  Plus, you gotta love all the great stadium food, and…”  He trailed off.  “The food’s going to be a problem for you, isn’t it.  I can skip the snacks, we’ll just watch the game together, that’ll work.”

Steve smiled, eyes soft.  “Thanks Buck, but you don’t have to skip the snacks here.  It’s just minor league, but they have an entire gluten free kiosk.  They even have gluten free beer - it kind of sucks, but sometimes it’s better than not having any.”

“You’re not planning on getting drunk on me tonight, are you?”

“Not a chance,” Steve said with a smile.

 

 

* * *

 

Steve loved baseball, but he would have been hard-pressed to even name the teams playing if someone had asked.  Bucky had been beautiful filthy and unshaven under streetlights, but here, shouting and animated and smiling so wide the skin around his eyes crinkled made Steve feel like his heart was going to burst.

For the first time in longer than he wanted to think about, his fingers itched for a pencil so he could capture this moment in graphite.  Between his daily struggles with his medical issues and the soul-crushing drain of his job, he hadn’t had the energy or desire to create something in...too long.  Months.  Years, maybe.

A kiss on his cheek drew him back out of his thoughts.

“I’m going to go get us some food, okay?  You wait here.”

“You sure, Buck?  I can go along to help if you want.”

“Hell no!  You got us tickets, let me get the food.  Gluten’s the only thing I have to look out for, right?”

Steve nodded, and watched Bucky head towards the end of the row.  The view was...compelling.

He wasn’t used to letting other people get food for him.  Truthfully, that wasn’t something he would even consider trusting most people with considering the consequences of carelessness.  And he wasn’t sure how Bucky would manage with only one arm, but the last thing he wanted to do was imply that he was helpless.  Bucky was many things, but helpless was definitely not one of them.

He proved that true when he came back, drink in one hand and a bag looped around his arm.

“We’ve got two hot dogs, some garlic fries, cotton candy, and even a gluten free churro!”  He bowed a little as he presented the bag to Steve.

“Is everything in here together?”  He didn’t want Bucky to feel bad, but if their food had touched even a little…

“Don’t worry, I got myself a gluten free hot dog too.  I did some reading today at the library, and I wanted to be sure I could kiss you later if that was something you were interested in.”

Bucky winked, and Steve was pretty sure his heart melted right then and there.

 

 

* * *

They walked together for a while after the game, and eventually ended up cuddled together on a bench in a small park.

“God, Stevie, this has been...fantastic.  I don’t even know when the last time I went on a date was, and I’m pretty sure it was nothing like this or I’d remember it a lot better.  I can’t tell you how much…”  

His voice trailed off.

“What is it?” Steve asked.

“I just...I really like you, Steve, I like you a lot, and I have no idea how I’m supposed to keep you interested in me!”

Steve put one hand on Bucky’s face.  “You don’t have to do anything but be yourself.  I don’t know if you can tell, but I’m pretty fucking interested.”

“There’s nothing interesting about me.”

“That’s a damn lie.  Christ, Buck, I want to know everything about you, and I feel like I hardly know anything yet!”

Bucky leaned into Steve’s hand.  “Then ask away, Stevie.  Anything at all, just ask.”

Steve nodded.  “But now I don’t know what to ask.  I want to know everything.”

Bucky leaned back a bit and stared up at the sky before he started talking.

“I enlisted at eighteen, went straight into the Army.  Had a couple of deployments, until everything went wrong on the last one.  When I came back from over there I just...I had no idea who I was anymore.  Six years of being treated more like a weapon than a person.  I mean, it was my finger on the trigger, but it wasn’t ever my decision to shoot or not shoot.  I might as well have been the gun, packed up and left in my case between missions.  They wanted everything, and I gave it to them.  And I paid for it too.”

Steve’s breath caught.  “What happened?”

“An op was fucked.  Bad intel, bad luck, bad everything, and they just left me there.  I was shot before I was captured by hostiles, and as it turns out, the assholes who had me didn’t care much about providing medical care to a POW.  It wasn’t so bad at first.  I mean, it bled a lot and it hurt like fucking hell, but it was just in and through my forearm.  If I’d been anywhere else I’d probably still have my arm, but two weeks in a dirty cave will give you one hell of an infection.  By the time I was rescued I was hallucinating so bad that I thought my rescuers were talking dogs.”  

He looked over at Steve with a grin like that was his cue to laugh, but Steve didn’t feel much like laughing.  He was a little afraid that if he opened his mouth at all he’d just start sobbing.  Or cursing.  Maybe both.

Bucky’s face went blank as he visibly shut down.  “I don’t want pity, Steve.”

“No!  It’s not that, it’s just - I can’t get over how strong you are.  I can’t imagine what it must have been like.”

“You can’t, and you shouldn’t have to.  It sucked, Stevie.  Every single bit of it sucked, and every bit of having my arm taken off sucked, and every bit of my discharge, and coming to terms with what I did over there, and trying to figure out who I am now sucked.  It’s been a rough couple of years, I won’t lie.”

Steve scooted closer, feeling Bucky as a solid line of heat against his side.  “Can I ask something personal?”

“Go ahead.  I don’t promise to answer, but there’s not much I don’t want you to know.”

“Why are you living on the streets?”

Bucky pulled away slightly as he blanched.  “Damn Steve, you don’t pull your punches!”

“I’m sorry, that was inappropriate, I-”

“No, no, it’s fine.  It’s just...I thought you’d ask about why I don’t have a prosthetic or something, not...that.”

“I figured you’d tell me about that at some point.”

Bucky’s reaction was instantaneous as he stiffened and then slumped down like his strings had been cut.  “I shoulda figured you’d go right to the heart of things.”

“You don’t ha-”

“It’s  _fine_ , Steve.  It’s just - when I got back, I was messed up.  Physically, emotionally, everything.  I was a mess.  The VA does the best they can, but they don’t have the money to do even a fraction of what they should be doing, and the military stops pretending to give a fuck about you as soon as you’re out.  I was angry, I was hurt, I was bitter as hell, I couldn’t ever relax.  I was in no shape to keep a job, and the disability payments just pissed me off more every time I saw what was left of my arm.  I didn’t have any family left, all my friends were in the military, and I ended up just...drifting.  It was easier most days.”

Steve leaned impossibly closer, and Bucky wrapped his arm around him.  

“I mean, what did I know about buyin’ towels or cable bills?  I went straight from shitty foster homes to military barracks.  I didn’t know the first damn thing about finding an apartment or cooking or anything.  Everything was like being in another country, except this was supposed to be home.  I don’t think I know what a home is supposed to be.”

“You said it was easier.”

“Yea.  I mean, it sounds a little crazy, and there was nothin’ easy about it, but living on the streets at least gave me an excuse for jumping at the every damn noise.  And…”  He trailed off and fell silent.

“And?”

“This is the hardest part, Stevie.”

“You don’t have t-”

“But I want to.”  Bucky’s face was serious.  “I want you to know.  I’ve been in therapy now for years.  Workin’ on myself.  And the truth of it is, the thing that it’s taken me years of therapy to admit, is that I didn’t feel like I deserved to have a home, or a family, or any of those things normal people have.”

“Buck!”  Steve’s voice cracked as he buried his face in Bucky’s neck.  

Bucky smiled at him, just the corners of his mouth turning up as he continued.  “And it helped, in a fucked up kind of way to have all those people look through me or past me, to hear all the terrible things that people will say to you when they don’t think of you as a person.  It felt - still feels - fucking awful, but it was like every terrible bit of it was a tiny fraction of the atonement I felt like I had to do to make up for all the blood and the death.”

“I,” Steve said calmly, “am going to personally track down every single person who _ever_ made you feel worthless, and I am going to kick the ever living shit out of every single one of them.  And then, I’m going to track down your military superiors, and I’m going to...not kick the shit out of them because I’m angry and stupid, not suicidal.  Slash their tires, maybe.  Sneak into their houses and cut holes in all their socks.  Sprinkle LEGO all over their floors.  Steal all their toilet paper.”  He had stood up at some point during that rant, and was shouting by the end of it.

“Steve, _Stevie_ , sit down!  I’m okay, I didn’t even mean to say all that, you’re just...really easy to talk to.  But I meant it when I said I wanted you to know everything.  I don’t...I don’t have anything really, not like you with your apartment and your job and everything.”

“Bucky, that’s not-”

“I don’t have anything to offer you but myself, Stevie, and I just want you to know what you’re getting into.”

Steve hugged him tight, more strength in his thin arms than most would assume.  “I don’t deserve you.”

“I could argue that, but I think you’re stubborn enough that we’d still be here arguing some time next week.  I’m still not where I want to be yet, I’m not fixed.  I still have shitty days and flashbacks and times when I want to punish myself for still being alive.  My therapist says it’s okay to be a work in progress, though.  And I’m a hell of a lot better off than most vets who are out on the streets.  I saw too much as a kid to ever want to fall into drugs or alcohol as a coping strategy, I’ve made friends, I have a couple of places I work part-time.  Most of the time, it’s not so bad.”

Steve shivered a little in the evening air.  “But what do you do when the weather’s bad?”

“Well, those are the times when it sucks.  I crash with friends sometimes, but I don’t want to wear out my welcome with them, and there are some decent shelters, especially in the winter.  Sometimes I sleep rough, and those are the days that really suck.”  He gestured with the stump of his left arm.  “This thing doesn’t appreciate it at all, let me tell you.”

“Bucky.”  Steve grabbed his hand and pulled him so they were facing each other directly.  “I want you to promise me something.”

“What’s that?”  

“Don’t sleep outside in the cold or the rain anymore, please.  Just...if you don’t have any place to go, call me.”

“You going to keep me warm at night, Stevie?”

“Shut up, it’s not like that.  I mean, not yet, not that I don’t _want_...I mean…”  He trailed off when he saw Bucky trying not to laugh at him.  “Shut up, jerk.  I just mean that whatever this is between us, whatever happens, I don’t want you to ever think you don’t have a place to go.  I don’t think I could stand the thought of you sleeping out in the cold rain.”

“I’m not a kid, Steve, and I don’t need a mom.” 

“I know, and that’s not...that’s not what I mean.  It’s just…”  He trailed off, frustrated.  “I know we just met, like, a day ago, and we barely know each other, but that doesn’t matter.  You’re important to me, Buck, and I want to keep you safe.”

“I’m a big, bad vet, I can take care of myself.  I’ve killed people, Steve!”

“Maybe, but that’s not what I’m talking about.  You deserve nice things.  You deserve a home, and a comfortable bed, and a kitchen you can learn to cook in - I’ll even teach you how to cook!  I’m pretty good at it now because of my food issues.”

Bucky ducked his head and stared down at his feet.  “Steve, I don’t…”

“You do, but I don’t have to convince you tonight.  Work in progress, right?”

“So you want to see me again?”

“Well,” Steve said, squaring his shoulders.  “I thought this date went really well, and I like you a lot, and I’d like to kiss you again tonight and maybe…”

Bucky had moved while Steve had been talking, and was suddenly much closer than he had been before.  “Yea?”

“Yea,” Steve whispered, breathless.  

Bucky kissed him again, slow at first but with more confidence when Steve pulled him in closer.  Bucky’s hand ghosted across Steve’s crotch.  

“I could make you feel so good, Steve,” he whispered into the other man’s lips before kissing him again.  “There’s nobody around, nobody to see you but me.”  

“Not,” Steve gasped as Bucky’s hand pressed down a little harder, “not here.  We could go back to my place, I could return the favor?”

Bucky shook his head a little and sat back.  “Not this time, Stevie.  I, uh - you know how I mentioned coping strategies?”

Steve nodded.

“Well, some of the ones I used maybe weren’t the healthiest.  And I was maybe not always as careful as I should have been.”

“You have an STD?”

Bucky grimaced.  “I...don’t actually know.  I went to a clinic this morning, but I won’t get the results back for at least a week.”

Steve smirked.  “Feeling hopeful?”

“Shaddup you.  I just...I don’t want to do anything to hurt you, so I thought I should probably find out for sure.”

“We could always...condoms?”  Steve blushed again.

“Christ, Stevie, you’re too pretty for words.  But condoms break, and I don’t want to risk it.  But I could take care of you, make it real good.”

It was tempting, oh _god_ was it tempting, with Bucky so close and so warm, but Steve shook his head.  “Nope.  Together or not at all.”

“You sure about that?  It looks like you have a bit of a problem there.”

“I won’t die of sexual frustration.  Probably.”

Bucky’s laugh rang out loud in the deepening night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have serious, serious anxiety over this now, because I wasn't at all expecting the reception that the last chapter got, and I'm hoping this has lived up to your expectations. Feedback would be wonderful if you feel the urge, and thank you all for reading!
> 
> Also, gluten free churros are apparently a real thing that exist in the world, and now I need to track one down.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has regrets, so very many regrets. Bucky is not one of them.

Steve knew before he even made it home that lunch had been a terrible, terrible mistake.

It hadn’t sounded like a mistake at the time.  They were rushing to meet a deadline, Steve’s Emergency Food Supply had been eaten earlier in the week and not replenished, and he didn’t have time to go far for lunch.  His boss had ordered in a catered lunch for the rest of the office, but of course there was nothing for Steve.  As usual.  

The taco truck across the street claimed they could make gluten free tacos.  The fact that the taco truck had  _ lied _ about being able to make gluten free tacos in the past wasn’t as compelling at that moment as the thought of warm, delicious food that he hadn’t had to make himself had been.

The fog in his brain that was making it hard to think was flavored with regret, and the stabbing pains that had already started up in his gut were his unjust punishment.  The stairs seemed to be endless and he trudged up, and up, and up to his apartment.

And it was  _ Friday _ .  Friday was now his standing date night with Bucky - not that they didn’t meet up at every possible opportunity, but Fridays were special.  A little more planned, a little more traditional.  Friday with Bucky was just about the only thing getting Steve through his work week anymore, and he was going to have to cancel, because there was no way he was going to be able to go anywhere like this.

He fumbled with the key as he opened the door and almost tripped over Bernie’s bags.

“Time to spin the Wheel of Misery, Bern,” he called out as he made his way inside.

She poked her head out of the bathroom.  “Oh no Steve, you didn’t.”

“Did.”

“It was the tacos again, wasn’t it?  You could have called me if you needed something to eat!”

It was scary how well she knew him sometimes.  “You were in court, and I thought it would be okay this time.”

“Those trucks are smaller than this bathroom, there’s no way they can realistically avoid cross contamination, and it’s irresponsible of them to claim they can.  It might even be actionable if you want to sue.”

Steve laughed.  “I’m not going to sue a taco truck.  I doubt it would be worth your time anyway.”

“Are you sure?  You might end up with your own taco truck out of it.”  Bernie gave him an exaggerated wink as she finished her makeup.  

“If anyone’s going to take revenge on them it’s me.  Maybe I’ll slash their tires or something”

“Don’t slash their tires, you’re not allowed to get arrested again.  Are you going to be okay without me here this weekend?”

“I’ll be fine.  Miserable and sad that I’m going to have to cancel my date, but I don’t need adult supervision.  Promise.”

She put her hands on her hips as she eyed him critically.  “If you’re sure.  But if you change your mind, the glass art conference isn’t that far, and I can be back here in a couple of hours with a red-hot punty if you need me to beat anybody up.”

“Go, shoo, have fun, blow glass and whoever else you feel like this weekend.  I’m going to call Buck, and then spend the rest of the weekend quietly dying.”  He hugged her goodbye, and she was off like a whirlwind.  At least somebody would be having fun.

He looked at his phone, glum.  Maybe he could fake it for a few hours, just so he could spend some time with him?  As if triggered by his thought, the pain in his gut resumed, sharper and worse than before.  He slid down the wall slowly, overwhelmed and unable to focus on anything but trying to breathe through the pain.

When it finally passed several minutes later, he stayed where he was curled up on the floor, cold sweat beading on his forehead.  Before he could change his mind, he dialed Bucky, who sounded warm and soft and impossibly tempting when he answered the phone.

“Steve, hi!  I was just thinking about you.”

Steve sighed.  “Buck, I’ve got some bad news.”  He trailed off, trying to put off the inevitable.

“What, what is it?”  The worry in Bucky’s voice was unmistakable.

“I have to cancel our date tonight.  I really, really, really don’t want to, but I can’t go out tonight.”

“Are you okay?  Did something happen?”  Bucky wasn’t sounding any less worried.

“Nothing major really, I just...can’t go out.”

“I didn’t do something wrong, did I?  I know I’ve been coming on kinda strong, I can back off if -”

“No!”  Steve almost shouted into his phone.  “No Buck, you haven’t done anything wrong, and I really, really don’t want to cancel our date.  I got glutened today, and the reaction is hitting me hard already and I’m not going to be able to go any farther from the bathroom than the couch, and all I wanted to do all week was spend more time with you, but now because of some  _ complete assholes _ I’m going to be sick at home by myself instead, and it’s not fucking FAIR!”

He was breathing hard at this point, red and panting from the sheer fury he felt at the unfairness of it all.  “Other people can just... _ eat something _ without it trying to  _ fucking kill them _ , and then they can go out on dates with their boyfriends to anywhere they want without having to research the fucking menu first and share their entire medical history with the entire fucking world, but I can’t even get a fucking taco for lunch without it taking its revenge on me!”

“Stevie-”

He kept going, words just pouring out.  “All fucking week, I’ve been dealing with the worst fucking people, working ridiculous hours, putting up with absurd demands while everyone around me just  _ eats all the fucking time _ , cookies and bagels and catered fucking sandwiches, but not a single goddamned thing I can eat, because who gives a fuck about the weird guy with weird diseases who can’t fucking eat food?  Nobody I work with, that’s for goddamned sure.”

Bucky sighed on the other end of the line, warm and attentive even though he wasn’t even there.  “I care, Stevie.”

“I know you do Buck.  I’m sorry about yelling at you like that, it’s just...gluten doesn’t just affect my gut, it gets into my brain too and fucks everything up, I can’t keep a lid on my emotions and turn into a complete asshole.  More than usual, I mean.”  He sat up and pressed his forehead into his knees.  “Everything is fucked up and terrible and I hate everything that isn’t you right now.  Especially food.”

“So, uh…”  Bucky trailed off.  “Did you, um.  Did you mean it?”

Steve sighed.  “Which part?  I mean, probably?”

“The part where you called me your boyfriend?”  Bucky’s voice was so tentative it almost hurt.

“Oh god.  Um.  Yes?  I mean, if you want to be?  I totally understand if you don’t, I’m a complete fucking mess, but…”

“Steve, shut up.”  Bucky’s voice was soft and kind, unlike his words.  “Of course I want to be.  I just didn’t think you’d want a crippled fuckup like me.”

“Hey!  That’s my boyfriend you’re talking shit about, I’ll have you know.”

“Duly noted,” Bucky responded, voice low and soft and tinged with humor.

Steve’s response was lost when another wave of pain hit, sharp and hot and all-consuming in its intensity.  He panted as he clenched his hand around his phone, vaguely aware that Bucky was saying something but unable to focus on something as mundane as listening until the spasm passed.  

“Sorry, Buck,” he said in a tight voice.  “Gluten.  Fucking sucks.”

“Fucking  _ Christ _ , Steve, it sounded like you were dying!”

“Kinda felt like it too, I won’t lie.  But it’s normal, this part usually only lasts a couple of hours.  S’why I can’t go out tonight.  I’m just going to curl up around a heating pad and concentrate on breathing tonight.  I’ll call you when I’m feeling better, okay?”

“You sure you’re going to be okay?”

“Yea, yea I’ll be fine.  You don’t have to fuss.  ‘M just going to try to sleep for a bit, ‘kay?”  He could feel his voice slurring as he stumbled towards the couch.  Bucky was saying something, but it was too much effort to make out the words.

“Talk t’ya later…”

* * *

A sharp knock at the door jolted him awake.  Judging by the angle of the light, he had been asleep for a couple of hours, but he wasn’t feeling any better.  Worse, possibly.  

He stumbled off the couch and over to the door, still muzzy with sleep.  He wasn’t sure exactly who he expected to see, but Bucky, loaded down with a heavy-looking backpack and several bags looped over his good arm was an unexpectedly pleasant surprise.

“Bucky!”  Steve leaned against the doorway and smiled sleepily.  “What’re you doing here?”

“I couldn’t leave my best guy on his own when he’s sick, could I?”  Bucky smiled broadly, eyes crinkling with warmth.  “I don’t suppose I could come in?”

“Oh!  Yea, yea of course.”  Steve moved back, running one hand through his hair to try to restore it to some kind of order.  “I’m not going to be very good company, though.”

“You don’t have to be good company,” Bucky said as he put the bags down in the small kitchen.  “You’re sick, I’m here to take care of you.”

“But…”

“But nothin’.  What else are boyfriends for, huh?”

Steve could feel the blush spread across his face and down his chest.  “Uh.  Thank you.  I…”  A sudden urgency in his gut drove all other thoughts from his mind.  “I gotta...I’ll be right back!”

He all but sprinted to the bathroom, mortified that his body would betray him in such a way in front of Bucky.  Mortified that his body would betray him in such a way at all.  It was much later when he finally emerged, gray and exhausted and feeling like a ghost in his own body.  “This is fucking disgusting, Buck, I can’t believe you want to be here for this.”

Bucky was still there in the kitchen, pulling things out of the cupboards and bags.

“Hey Stevie, you hungry at all?”  Steve took a quick mental inventory and shook his head.  He was hungry, yes, but eating anything sounded profoundly unappealing.  Bucky looked at him with an assessing eye.  “You look like you need sleep.  Go lay down, let me explore, maybe you’ll let me feed you up when you wake up again.”

“But…”  Steve let out a token protest, not wanting to sleep while Bucky was there.

“But nothin’.  You’re going to sleep, and I’m going to try to make some soup from this recipe I got from Clint - not Wade, so it shouldn’t be too weird unless I really fuck it up - and if I finish before you wake up I’ll put a movie on or something.”  He walked over to Steve and carefully wrapped his arm around him.  “You go get some rest and let me take care of the rest, okay?”  

Steve leaned into him and felt the brush of a kiss on the top of his head.  “Kay…” he sighed before making his way back to the couch.

* * *

It was much darker when Steve finally woke up again, feeling warm and secure and soothed by the slow drag of fingers through his hair.  He still felt terrible, but the sharp pain of earlier had been replaced by faint nausea and the clammy feel of cold sweat.  He rubbed his face against Bucky’s leg as he stretched, not willing to move more and risk waking all the way up.

“S’nice.  Don’t stop.”

“Anything you want, darlin’.”

Steve sighed and drifted slightly, enjoying the peace and the warmth and Bucky’s quiet presence, until the audible rumble of his stomach forced him the rest of the way awake.  

Bucky huffed a quiet laugh.  “If you’re hungry I’ve got some things for you.”  Steve smiled up at him sleepily.  Bucky’s hair was still damp, freshly washed, and he was in different clothes than the ones he had been in when he first arrived, a soft t-shirt and sweats instead of the layers and jeans of earlier.  

“The, uh…”  Bucky trailed off, looking nervous.  “I kinda made a mess of your kitchen.  And of myself, so I used your shower too.  I’ll clean it up, don’t worry, I just didn’t want to wake you up with any more bangin’ around than I had already done.”

As Steve sat up, he pressed a small kiss to Bucky’s lips.  “Mmmm...food.  I didn’t think we had anything here, I was going to go get groceries later.”

“You didn’t.”  Bucky laughed.  “I brought some things, but I used your knives and pots.  And, uh, kind of made a mess like I said.”

“You cooked?”  Steve was ridiculously happy that Bucky would have even tried to cook something for him.  He had to eat his own cooking so often that having something he hadn’t cooked for himself felt like a treat.

“Well,” Bucky grimaced, “I tried to make soup.  It’s not very pretty, because apparently chopping onions with only one hand is not something for the faint-hearted.  But it’s completely gluten free, and at least smells like soup?”  Steve just smiled again and snuggled closer to Bucky.

“And if the soup’s terrible, I brought some things from Wade too, all gluten free.  We’ve got cucumber margarita cupcakes, lavender pound cake, and, uh - meatloaf cupcakes.  With mashed potato icing, apparently.  There are also some avocado chocolate muffins, but I’m not sure if those actually qualify as food or not.  But hey, they’re all gluten free, so they probably won’t kill you!”

Steve shuffled into the kitchen and - wow.  Bucky had not been lying when he said he had made a mess.  There were vegetable bits everywhere, including on top of the refrigerator, which must have taken some doing.  The broth from the soup had slopped everywhere, the whole stove was going to need to be scrubbed off, and the sink was full of dishes - a skillet, covered in a burned crust, more knives than Steve knew he owned, several plates and cutting boards, and what looked like half the silverware from the drawer.

Bucky rubbed his hand on the back of his neck, hair hiding his face like a curtain.  “I’ll clean it all up, I promise, it was just a lot harder to do everything with just one hand than I thought it would be and I kept dropping things and I have no idea how I managed to not break anything, but…”

Steve cut him off with a kiss, hard and insistent.  It took a moment before Bucky responded, but once he caught on he was an enthusiastic participant.  “You  _ cooked _ for me,” Steve said once he finally pulled away.  “You told me you didn’t know how to cook!”

“Well, I don’t, really,” Bucky said, tips of his ears turning red.  “But Clint gave me the recipe, and Natasha, she’s Clint’s physical therapist and can’t have gluten either, Natasha told me what kind of broth to get, and the rest was just cooking the chicken and chopping things up.  The, uh - the chopping part wasn’t fun, lots of it ended up on the floor and then I had to wash it again.  And it probably doesn’t taste too good, so you don’t have to eat it if you don’t want it, my feelings won’t be hurt if you don’t.”

“Bucky.”  Steve looked at him, face serious as he pulled a couple of bowls out.  “Shut up.  You cooked for me, you went out of your way to bring all this stuff here when there was absolutely no reason for you to do that, and you went out of your comfort zone to do something new just because you wanted to do something for me, and that’s amazing, and I will not sit here and listen to you diminish that at all.”

Bucky cocked one eyebrow up.  “Well then, sir yes sir.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Steve said with a grin.  “Now sit down and enjoy that soup you made.”  

They both sat down at the small table, bowls of steaming soup in front of them.  The vegetables were unevenly cut, but that didn’t particularly bother Steve.  The first bite was almost enough to make him moan.  

“Buck, this is amazing.”  And it was, too, warm and filling and satisfying beyond just Steve’s physical hunger.  He liked seeing Bucky like this, casual and comfortable in his apartment, legs tangling together under the table as they ate a homemade meal together.  It was something Steve thought he might want all the time, every day if possible.

“You know?  This isn’t half bad, I can’t believe I made this,” Bucky said with a pleased smile.  “It didn’t come out of a can or anything either.”  They ate in a companionable silence, Bucky finishing three bowls to Steve’s one, before another spasm sent Steve running to the bathroom.

When he stumbled back out, Bucky was pale.  “Are you okay, Stevie?  I didn’t fuck something up, did I?  Fuck, I checked everything, I thought-"

“Not your fault, Buck.  It’s from earlier.”   


“Still?”  Bucky frowned, unconvinced.

“Yep.”  Steve collapsed back on the couch, shaking again despite the meal.  “I’m going to be dealing with this for days, or weeks.  Not your fault my immune system is an asshole.”

Bucky sat down next to him and pulled Steve over so he was tucked in against Bucky’s chest.  “That fuckin’ sucks.  What can I do?”

“Not much.”  Steve laughed, a little bitterly.  “This...this is nice.  I’m not going to be up for anything tonight, and I know I’m sweaty and gross and sick and probably smell terrible, but if you don’t have anywhere else to be you could stay.  Here.  With me.”

Bucky’s smile when he looked over at Steve was warm and amazed.  “Of course I’ll stay, Stevie.  There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ice storms, assholes, and just a little bit of smut

Steve paced back and forth across his apartment, unable to settle down.  He glanced out the window each time he reached that part of his circuit, and each time it confirmed what he already knew.  The weather was terrible, a slick icy rain that made the streets treacherous and soaked through all but the most weatherproof layers to freeze you to the bone, and he hadn’t heard from Bucky since yesterday.

It was ridiculous to worry, Steve knew that.  Bucky was a grown man who had survived combat and time as a POW and had lived on his own on the streets without Steve’s mothering for several years.  Sure, public transit was all but shut down, and the roads were a snarl of icy, slow-motion accidents (Steve had seen two as they happened, unlucky drivers hitting a patch of ice and sliding into the nearest parked car), and most businesses were shut down for the day - including Steve’s office, although his boss had made it clear that Steve was still expected to meet all his deadlines, office or no.  The apartment was warm and cozy, he had his computer set up so he could work from home, Bernie was out of town again for a case, and there was, in theory, nothing at all keeping him from spending a quiet and productive day at home in the quiet warmth.

Nothing, except for the fact that Bucky hadn’t picked up when he called, and hadn’t responded to any of his texts.  Steve glared at his phone as if sheer force of will could deliver a text from Bucky, something light and humorous that made it perfectly clear that he was absolutely fine and not huddled up behind some dumpster somewhere.

One more circuit, and Steve finally gave in.  “Fuck!” he shouted as he grabbed his phone.  His call to Bucky went straight to voicemail, so he went ahead and called Bucky’s friend from the bakery.

It rang once before someone answered.  “Wilton’s Bakery, now with zero live bees!  How can I hurt you?”

Steve heard another voice in the background shouting in response.  “Dammit Wade, it’s help!”

“You need help?  I’ll be with you in a minute, baby, I’m on the phone!”

“Um…”  Steve was thrown.  “Is this Wade?”

“Yep, that’s me!  What can I do for you?”

“I, um...you’re a friend of Bucky’s, right?”

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.  Who is this, and what do you want with Bucky?”

This wasn’t going at all the way Steve had anticipated, and he was starting to think it might have been a terrible mistake.  “My name is Steve, and I’m just-”

“Steve?  Tiny adorable Steve who gets into fistfights at the grocery store?  Bucky’s Steve?”  Wade sounded absolutely delighted.

Steve blushed, and was grateful that it wasn’t visible over the phone.  “Yea, that’s me.  Look, I-”

Wade cut him off again.  “Hey man!  I’ve been wanting to meet you!  What did you think of those Strawberry Coriander muffins I made last week?  Clint said they were fucking awful, and Natasha threw one at me, but I wanted to know what you thought.”

“They were pretty fucking terrible,” Steve said, too worried to bother with tempering his words at all.  “Look, I appreciate the things you’ve made for me more than you know, and I’d love to talk to you about it sometime, but not right now.  I just need to know if you’ve heard from Bucky.  I haven’t talked to him since last night and he’s not responding to texts and I’m worried.”

There was a pause at the other end of the line before Wade said quietly, “Shit.  Hold on.”  The phone went silent for a long, agonizing minute before Wade came back.  “Sorry, man.  Clint and I haven’t seen him for a few days.  He works over at Fogwell’s gym a couple of days a week, maybe try there?  I’ll call around in the meantime, see if I can’t help you find him, okay?”

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, almost sagging in relief.  “That’s great, thanks Wade.”  

His call to the gym was less productive, and the shelters he was able to get through to weren’t able to tell him anything at all.

After hanging up on his last call he looked back where his computer was waiting, horrible soul-crushingly dull design jobs with looming deadlines getting closer by the minute, and then took one more look out the window at the icy sleet pouring down.

“Fuck!” he shouted as he grabbed his coat and headed out to look for Bucky.

 

* * *

Steve wasn’t sure how long he had been walking around, or how many blocks he had circled and back-alleys he had combed, but his coat was soaked through and he couldn’t feel his toes any more by the time he finally found someone who had seen Bucky, camped out under an overpass.

“Last I saw him,” the man said, “he was taking old Captain Bradley to the shelter on 74th.  Cap wasn’t doing so hot, and Barnes just can’t let things go.”

“Thank you,  _ thank you _ !”  Steve was pretty sure he was radiating gratitude at finally finding someone who had actually seen Bucky recently, but he didn’t care.  He pulled his wallet out and handed over a twenty that he probably couldn’t really spare.  “Look, if you need a place to go -”

“I’m fine, thanks.”  He went back to his camp, conversation clearly over.  Steve couldn’t seem to muster up the energy to care about the brush-off, too focused on Bucky to worry about anything else.  The weather was just getting worse, the ice was making the sidewalks treacherous, and the walk to 74th Street was not something Steve ever wanted to attempt again.  The people at the shelter were quick to direct him to Captain Bradley.

“Isaiah, please,” he said, only a slight tremor to his voice.  “You don’t look like you were ever in the service, son.”

“No,” Steve agreed, and then, impatient, got straight to the point.  “I’m looking for Bucky.  Someone told me he brought you here, is he here somewhere too?”

Isaiah chuckled, which developed into a nasty cough.  Once he got his breath back he patted Steve on the back.  “Never get old.  Barnes is a good kid, he helped get me here but they didn’t have space for both of us.  He took off once he made sure I was settled.  Check at the park up the street.  He camps out there sometimes.”

Steve nodded his thanks and left just as quickly, too caught up in worries about Bucky to worry much about politeness.  The weather outside had gotten worse, sleet pouring relentlessly down and ice coating every surface in a way that was as beautiful as it was treacherous.  Any sand or salt that had been put down had been long since overwhelmed, and Steve fell on his ass more than once as he struggled to make it the two blocks to the park.

If swearing generated heat, the ice wouldn’t have presented any problem at all.  It was a relief when he finally reached the park, the uneven surface of the icy grass providing more traction than the sidewalk had.  Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough traction to save Steve from falling on his ass once again.

“FUCK,” he shouted from where he lay on the ground, flat on his back.  He could feel the wet and the cold seeping through his layers, a creeping irritant that did nothing at all to distract from the ice pelting down on his face.  “BUCKY YOU FUCKER, YOU’D BETTER BE HERE!”

“Steve?”  He heard the call coming from somewhere off to the side, where a small stand of trees stood.  “Steve, is that you?”

Steve tried to get to his feet, struggling to get traction on the ice.  “BUCKY, GET YOUR DUMB ASS OUT HERE, I’M HERE TO TAKE YOU HOME.”

He could see a figure approaching, covered in enough layers to obscure any hint of identity to anyone who didn’t know him as well as Steve did.

“Steve, you idiot, what the hell are you doing here?” Bucky frowned as he reached his hand down and pulled Steve to his feet.

“What the hell do you think I’m doing, jerk?  I’m here to get you someplace warm, it’s too fucking miserable to be outside when you have other options.”

Bucky’s face went dark and stubborn.  “I’m fine, and you’re not my ma.  I don’t need someone mothering me.”

“And I don’t need someone to take care of me when I’m sick, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t nice to have you there,” Steve shot back as he stepped fully into Bucky’s personal space.  “Maybe you don’t need looking after, but maybe I need to know you’re safe.  Maybe I was sitting at home worried sick that you weren’t answering your phone because you were dead in some alley somewhere.”

He was taken aback when Bucky pulled him tight into his chest, which would have been much nicer if they weren’t both wet and freezing cold.  “You dumbass.  My battery died, and I didn’t get a chance to charge it.  I was all snug in my camp, you didn’t need to worry about me.”

Steve cocked one eyebrow up at him.  “Yea, it doesn’t work like that.  The weather’s awful, I don’t care how nice your camp is, it’s better under a roof.”

“ _ You’d _ be better under a roof,” Bucky shot back.  “You’re soaked through.  You need to get home, dry off.”

“Like you’re any better.  I’m not going anywhere unless you’re coming with me.”

 

* * *

By the time the cab dropped them off at Steve’s apartment, Steve was shivering hard enough that helping Bucky out of the cab and into the building was presenting a serious challenge to his manual dexterity.  The heat in the car had been nice, but not nearly enough to defrost either of them.  Bucky leaned harder on him as they worked their way up the stairs.

“Yer so cute, Stevie, the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, just look at ya,” he said into Steve’s hair as they reached the landing, where he pulled away suddenly with a jerk.  “But yer so dumb, Stevie, such a damn punk, why were you out in the cold?  It’s so cold, Stevie, you shoulda been all nice and warm at home, now you’re going to get sick and I hate it when you get sick, doll.”

“You’re one to talk, Buck,” Steve bit back.  “What were you doing out there in the cold when you could have been here with me?”

Bucky buried his face in Steve’s neck, causing them both to sway backwards dangerously.  “Didn’t want to bother you, Stevie, not when you had other things to worry about than me.  I was fine, really.”

Steve frowned as he fumbled with his keys, hands shaking with cold.  “We’re talking about later, Buck, don’t you dare think I’m going to let that go.”

The heat inside the apartment didn’t seem to touch the cold that had seeped under Steve’s skin, and he couldn’t imagine that Bucky was doing any better.  “We’ve got to warm up,” he said as he started pulling off his own outer layers before stopping to help Bucky with his.  

Bucky was pale and cold to the touch.  “Shit,” Steve said.  “I shoulda taken you to the hospital, shit shit  _ shit _ !”

“No,” Bucky said as he grabbed a blanket and landed on the couch.  “No hospital.  I’m fine, really, and I don’t like hospitals anyway.”

“But we’ve got to get you warm,” Steve said as his teeth started chattering.  “And I don’t think body heat’s going to do it when I’m half frozen too.”  He continued pulling Bucky’s clothes off, piling blankets on him once he got down to bare skin.  

“Aww Stevie, if you wanted me naked you just coulda asked.  I’ll get naked for you any time.”

“Oh my god shut  _ up _ , Bucky,” Steve said, feeling his cheeks heat as he blushed.  His skin was cold enough that it was almost painful.  “Wait!  Wait here, Buck, I have an idea.”  He dashed off, leaving Bucky mostly naked and buried under a small mountain of blankets.

One of the nicest features of this particular apartment, which had definitely been a factor when Steve and Bernie had chosen it, was the bathroom, which was small but practically dominated by an oversized tub that was deep enough for Steve to fully submerge himself without flooding the place.  

Steve started the water, and set the dial to almost the hottest it would go.  He stuck one hand in once it had heated up, only to jerk it back out almost as fast.  

“Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck _ !  Too hot.”  He went back out once the tub was full enough with warm water and pulled Bucky up off the couch.  “C’mon Buck, let’s get the rest of your clothes off and get you into the bath.”  

Steve wasn’t quite sure how someone could manage to be so much of an octopus with only one arm, but Bucky seemed to have hands everywhere at once and seemed more interested in maximizing his skin contact with Steve than actually moving towards the bathroom.

“Look at ya, Stevie, you’re so pretty, I could look at you all day.  You should never wear clothes, just let me look at ya, just like that.”  He stopped suddenly and frowned.  “But then you could get sick.  Steve, what if you get sick?  We gotta get you warm, let me take care of you.”

Steve huffed a laugh as he pulled Bucky closer to the bathroom.  “I’m not the one who’s half frozen,” he said, despite his chattering teeth.  “You’re frozen through, we need to warm you up, Buck.”

“No, no, no, no,” Bucky said as he buried his face in the side of Steve’s neck.  “I gotta take care of you, make sure you’re okay.  Gotta get you something to eat, you probably haven’t eaten and you’re like ice, Stevie.  Lemme...lemme warm you up, tuck you in bed, get you something to eat, baby.”

Steve frowned as he finally manhandled Bucky into the bathroom.  “M’not a baby, and I don’t need you taking care of me right now.  It’s my turn, okay, let me take care of you this time.”  He guided Bucky into the tub, one foot at a time, and winced in sympathy as Bucky hissed at the heat of the water.

“Fine, but you’re a punk.  You should get in here and join me.”  His exaggerated eyebrow waggle made Steve laugh.  

“Jerk.  I will, but I need to do something else first.”  

He grabbed a robe and pulled it around himself as he headed to the kitchen, mentally cataloging the food he had on-hand.  He could make a decent, if somewhat bland, soup with the potatoes, onions, and celery he had, but that didn’t sound all that appealing.  

Steve pulled his stock pot out of the cabinet and sliced in a knob of butter as he thought about it more.  He diced the onion and celery and added them to the pot with the butter in the pot and was halfway through chopping the potatoes when he remembered the tart green apples he had bought just a couple of days before.  If he added those to the soup, then he’d just need to add in some ginger and cinnamon, and maybe some milk, and they’d have an excellent soup to warm up with later.  

He got everything in the pot and set it to simmer just in time, because Bucky had apparently run out of patience.  “Steve!  Get your tail in here and cuddle with me, dammit!  I’m wet and naked and lonely!”

“With an invitation like that, I’m not sure how I could possibly say no,” Steve said as he walked into the bathroom and dropped his robe.  Bucky looked better, skin pink and eyes bright as he grinned and the skin around them crinkled up.

“You’re the one who dragged me here and pulled all my clothes off, I don’t know why you’re acting shy now.  And you were just as cold as I was, so get in here and warm up.”

Steve splashed Bucky in the face before stepping into the water - still warm, but pleasantly so now that Steve had had a chance to warm up a bit.  He leaned back against Bucky’s chest with a sigh, and smiled as Bucky wrapped his arm around Steve and pulled him tight.

They laid like that for a time, quiet and enjoying the warmth and the closeness when Bucky’s hand started moving.  It was slow at first, soft strokes down Steve’s side that dipped progressively lower until Steve started squirming, warm now from more than just the heat of the water.  “Bucky…” he whined, arching back.

“Shhh Stevie, you took such good care of me earlier, it’s my turn now.  Let me take care of you, doll.”  His hand moved up, tweaking Steve’s nipple.  Steve’s breath caught as he arched back, feeling Bucky’s answering hardness hot and solid against his back.

“That’s right, just lay back and feel it, okay?  Lemme take care of you now.  You did such a good job helpin’ me out of the cold, bringing me home with you, now it’s my turn.”  His hand glided back down Steve’s chest, wrapping loosely around his cock.

“Don’t tease, Buck,” Steve gasped out, sounding high and winded.

Bucky chuckled, low and dark into the hair behind Steve’s ear as he started slowly moving his hand.  “S’my turn to be in charge now.  You’re so fucking dumb, you know that?  Such an idiot, going out into the cold to look for me when you coulda been here all nice and snug and warm at home.”

“Shut up, m’not dumb.  Besides, you could have been here too.  Home.  With me.” 

Behind him, Bucky froze, his hand tightening almost to the point of pain.  His grip loosened again when Steve squirmed, but his hand didn’t start moving again, as frozen as the rest of him.  Even his breath on Steve’s neck seemed to have stopped.

“What are you sayin’, Steve?”

Steve twisted around in the water, arms draping around Bucky’s neck as he turned to face him directly.  “If you wanted it, I mean.  A home.  Here.”  He could feel himself turning redder with every awkward word that fell out of his mouth, but he refused to look away, staring challengingly at Bucky.  “Move in with me.”

Bucky’s jaw dropped as he gaped, which really shouldn’t have been as cute as it was.  “But...you can’t...you don’t…”

Steve leaned in to press kisses along Bucky’s jaw.  “I do.  I want you here in the mornings when I wake up, in my bed at night, all the time.  Not as charity, not because I think I know better than you, or because I don’t think you can make it on your own, but because I want to have you in my life all the time.”

“But I’m a mess, Steve!  You don’t want me here, you don’t know what you’re asking.  I have nightmares, I barely sleep, I have days when I can’t talk to anybody and times when I just want to find a hole in the ground and hide there for days.  You don’t know what you’re asking!”

“I know exactly what I’m asking.”  Steve moved his hands to cradle Bucky’s face as he leaned in closer.  “I’m in shit health and even when I do everything right I still get sick and everything is fucking awful.  You have no idea the horrors I inflict on the bathroom on a daily basis, I fucking hate my job, I have anxiety and horrible mood swings, and I like to steal all the blankets and then throw them on the floor when I’m sleeping.  I don’t want perfect, Buck.  I just want you.”

He didn’t expect Bucky to surge forward, catching his mouth in a kiss that was all heat and passion any more than he expected Bucky’s hand, warm and possessive, to curl around his ass and pull him flush against Bucky’s chest.  They moved frantically against each other, breathing the same air and thrusting against each other as water sloshed out of the tub and onto the floor.

They stayed pressed together once they were done, Steve’s head resting on Bucky’s chest, enjoying the closeness and the clean press of skin against skin until the water cooled enough that the discomfort forced them out of the water.

Steve felt oddly shy as they dried off, and he kept catching Bucky’s eyes in quick sideways glances that were as warm as they were uncertain.  

“I’ll, um,” Steve cleared his throat, oddly loud in the thick silence that hung between them.  “I’ll be right back, I should have something clean you can wear.”  

He pulled out a pair of sweatpants that were comically oversized on him and his largest shirt.  They weren’t nearly as big on Bucky, and the way they pulled and stretched as he moved was almost hypnotic.  Bucky caught his eye and gave him a crooked, cocky grin, and Steve blushed to have been caught staring.

“The soup!”  Steve jumped up and rushed into the kitchen where the soup was still simmering on the stove, happy to have a distraction from his embarrassment and the way Bucky looked in his clothes.  A quick check showed that the vegetables were soft enough, so he pulled out the immersion blender to give the soup its proper creamy texture.  

“You need any help in there,” Bucky called out.

“Nope, it’s all done now.”  Steve ladled two generous servings into the thick, handmade bowls that Bernie had bartered some of her glass pieces for and brought them out on a tray into the living room where Bucky had made himself a small nest on the couch that Steve had piled there earlier.  Steve settled next to him, sliding into place at Bucky’s side like that was where he was always meant to be.

Bucky pulled the tray onto his lap and let out an obscene moan at the first bite.  “Holy  _ shit _ , Steve, this is amazing!”

“Eh, it’s just something I put together really quick, it’s really not anything special.”

“You are a lying liar who lies, Steven Grant Rogers, and I will not sit here and listen to this foul slander.”

Steve smiled faintly.  “Maybe I should have said that you could eat like this every day if you lived here.”   


“Steve…”

“I’m sorry, I’m  _ sorry _ , I shouldn’t push.  I won’t -”

“It’s not that, Stevie.  It’s just - are you sure?  And I mean, what about Bernie?  I’m sure she doesn’t want some bum cluttering up the place.”

Steve felt the furrow between his eyebrows deepen.  “Of course I’m sure, Buck, have you ever known me to say something I didn’t mean?  And Bernie and I already talked about it, I wouldn’t have even offered if she hadn’t liked the idea.  I’m not that much of an asshole.”

“You sure about that?  I mean, I’ve heard some stories, Stevie, and -”

“Oh, shut  _ up _ , you’re the asshole here.  So are you moving in or not?”

“I, uh…”  Bucky lowered his eyes as he trailed off.  “I guess I am.”

“Good.”  Steve nodded in satisfaction.  “Now get over here and cuddle with me, dammit.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's decisions have consequences, Bernie goes on the attack, and Bucky has a taco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am not a lawyer, I do not play one on TV, nothing in here should be taken as legal advice or in any way as indicative of reality or how something like this would actually play out in Actual Reality. Please consult an Actual Real-Life Lawyer in the place where you live if you need legal advice. If you want to read a fic that deals with actual court legal things in an accurate fashion, I highly recommend the Motion Practice series by the_wordbutler, because it’s amazing. I am a network engineer, at best I might be able to help you with your wireless router settings. 
> 
> (Don’t actually ask me about your wireless router settings.)

“I’m sorry Mr. Rogers, but I’m afraid you’ve left me with very little choice.”  Pierce shuffled some of the papers around on his oversized polished desk.  “We have very high standards here, you see, and your work simply hasn’t lived up to those standards.”  He didn’t even have the decency to look Steve in the face when he said it, either.

“Standards,” Steve said flatly.  He felt like he was wrapped in wool, distant and insulated, or watching the scene play out from outside.

“Standards,” Pierce agreed.  “You had a deadline, Mr. Rogers, and I’m afraid you simply didn’t meet it.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed.  “I told you what happened.  I had a personal emergency, and I still finished the project.”

“You were,” Pierce said as he looked up, blue eyes meeting blue for the first time in this meeting, “two hours late.  And that simply isn’t something we can accept here.”

“You’re firing me over two hours,” Steve said flatly.

“Oh, it’s not just this one incident, of course.  You seem to fall ill with deplorable regularity as well.”

“I have a disease, a disability.  I filed the paperwork with HR.”  The fury igniting under his sternum was starting to burn away the fuzzy shock that had been keeping Steve distanced from the situation.

Pierce waved his hand dismissively.  “Be that as it may, you’re just not a good fit for our office culture.  You rarely participate in the potlucks or team-building events, which demonstrates a distressing lack of dedication to the company.  It’s regrettable, but we really need people here who are better…”  He waved one hand in the air idly as his words trailed off.  

“The last time I brought something for a potluck, I caught Rumlow putting bread crumbs in my crock pot.  And you never have the team meals at restaurants with gluten free menus.”

“See?  See there, that’s exactly what I’m talking about,” Pierce said as he settled back in his chair with a satisfied air.  “You’re just trying to pass the blame around, not wanting to take any personal responsibility for yourself.  I only employ go-getters, Mr. Rogers, team players, not hotshots who resort to making excuses for their own failings.”

With that, Steve felt the storm that had been building inside explode.  “You know what?  Fine.  And you know what else?  I’ve been recording this conversation, jackhole, and I’m going to be taking it to my lawyer.  Have fun with my ADA lawsuit, you blistered pustule on a goat’s ass!”

He almost bowled over three of his (former) coworkers who were loitering outside the door, trying to pretend like they hadn’t been listening.  “And you!  Rumlow!  Fuck you and your fucking ficus too!”

The anger managed to carry him as far as the street, where he started feeling the cold apprehension of a looming panic attack prickling under his skin.  He staggered across the road after a break in traffic and collapsed on the closest bench, panting in an attempt to get air through the heavy weight pushing down on his chest.  

The taco vendor leaned out of the window of his truck.  “You look rough, man.  Need a taco?”

That was enough for Steve’s rage to catch its second wind and push back the panic.  “FUCK you and your  _ fucking _ death-tacos!” he shouted as he pulled himself back onto his feet and started his walk home.

* * *

“You’re wallowing, darling,” Bernie said from across the room.

“M’not,” Steve replied, voice muffled by Bucky’s leg.

“You kind of are,” Bucky said as he ran his hand through Steve’s hair again.  “You haven’t moved since I got here two hours ago.”

“Your leg is very comfortable,” was Steve’s response.  He had called Bernie on his way home, ranting and shouting about injustice, bullying, and Brock Rumlow’s thrice-damned ficus that he had watered for him last year while Brock was on vacation that Brock never seemed to shut up about.  Bernie had in turn called Bucky at work, who managed to get to the apartment only a few minutes after Steve, just in time for him to run out of steam and collapse face-down on the couch where Bucky was sitting.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Bernie continued, “you have a very strong case here.  I’ve been saving all your texts and emails about the incidents you’ve had while you were employed there and they paint a compelling picture of a hostile workplace and show grounds for a disability discrimination suit.”

“Wait, you saved all of those?”  Steve sat up surprised, hair sticking up in all direction and an impression from the seam of Bucky’s jeans pressed into his face.

“Yep.”  Bernie’s satisfaction was almost a visible thing.  “You may have been ranting and blowing off steam, but I was lying in wait and building my case.  These emails you forwarded me from HR are especially damning.  And now we’re going to destroy those fuckers and salt the earth beneath them.”

“You’re kind of terrifying,” Bucky said, clearly impressed.  “And I know terrifying.  I’ve been actually tortured by people who were less terrifying than you are.”

“Thank you.  Just take good care of Steve and I won’t have to worry about how to dispose of your lifeless corpse.”

“Don’t threaten my Bucky,” Steve said as he moved around in the kitchen, banging around pans and pulling out half the contents of the fridge.  “I’m a big boy, I can threaten my Bucky all by myself if I need to.”

“We could try not threatening Bucky at all,” Bucky suggested, which netted him a matched set of glares.  “Do you two practice that?  Because that was kind of scary.”

“Stop sitting on your ass, Buck, and get in here and help me cook.  I need to eat my feelings,” Steve said with a frown.  “And I have a lot of feelings.”

“Please use up some of those apples I brought back last week, I have no idea what I was thinking when I bought an entire bushel of the things,” Bernie said distracted as she continued typing away furiously.  

“Apple fries it is.  Buck, can you pull out the cornstarch?”

“I’m not even sure what cornstarch is,” Bucky said as he started rummaging around in the closest cabinet.  

“Yellow container, top shelf.  I’ll need the cinnamon and sugar too,” Steve replied as he started peeling apples.  “You’re only getting out of this part because I have no idea how you’d manage this peeler with just one hand.  You’re not getting out of chopping, though.”

Bucky had only just moved in, but Steve had decided that he needed to learn how to cook with more than just a microwave, and the pair had amassed an array of adaptive equipment for cooking, everything from a cutting board with food guards to hold things in place to a rocker knife, although Bucky was learning that he preferred using a standard handled knife for most things.

They settled into an easy routine, Steve peeling the apples and Bucky chopping them until the bowl they were using was overflowing.

“So you heat up the oil like this, see?  Coat the apples in the cornstarch, put them in the oil  _ carefully _ , then spoon them out after about five minutes.  Stick them on the paper to drain, and when the oil’s had a chance to run off for a couple of minutes sprinkle them with cinnamon and sugar.  Got that?”

“Um.”  Bucky looked at the pot of hot oil like it was going to bite him.  From what he knew about frying food, that wasn’t necessarily impossible.  “You’re not going anywhere, right?”

Steve looked at him with a determined expression.  “I have so many feelings, Bucky.  While you’re making those, I’m going to make paninis and caramel apple popcorn balls.”

“Okaaaaaaay…”

“I love it when you eat your feelings,” Bernie said with a happy sigh.  “I picked up some cheddar you can use for the paninis.”

“I love you, Bern,” Steve said around a mouthful of popcorn.  “I owe you so many paninis for the lawyer thing.”

She raised one eyebrow at him from her desk.  “You owe me so much actual cash money for the lawyer thing, you mean.  Lucky for you I’m going to take it as a percentage of the settlement I’m going to get you.”  She started typing again as if to emphasize her point.  “But you owe me paninis too.”

* * *

“What the fuck are these?” Bucky asked as he peered into the casserole dish.  The rush of steam was hot on his face and he jumped back a little, startled.

“Beets,” Steve said shortly.  “I found a recipe for a beet and apple soup that looked good.”

“Huh.  I don’t even know if that sounds good or not.”  Bucky peeled his shirt off, still sweaty from the gym.  “Look, I’m going to shower and change.  Want to go out somewhere, maybe check out some books or hassle some ducks?”

Steve shook his head.  “I don’t really feel like going anywhere.”

“When’s the last time you even left the apartment?” Bucky asked with some concern.  “We went and got groceries last week, but I think you’ve been here ever since.”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Steve said.  “I like this apartment.  It’s a nice apartment.  Especially when you’re in it and not wearing clothes,” he said as he wrapped his arms around Bucky and laid his head against his bare chest.

“Don’t even try to distract me by being adorable, Stevie.  I’m serious.  It’s been three weeks and you’ve hardly done anything except cook.  Which, don’t get me wrong, I am entirely okay with, I think I’ve put on ten very happy pounds, but I’m worried about you, punk.”

Steve let out a heavy breath, relaxing deeper against Bucky.  “Don’t know.  I’m bored.  Everything is terrible.  Except you, you’re not terrible.  But everything else just seems so…”  He trailed off, frustrated.  “I don’t even know,” he said with frustration as he pulled away from Bucky and paced the kitchen.  “I’m just bored.  I’ve gotten some interest from my resume, a couple of emails, but even thinking about scheduling an interview sounds terrible.  I could try freelancing, but that means dealing with clients directly.”  His face twisted in disgust.

“Fucking clients,” Bucky said in supportive agreement.

“ _ Fucking  _ clients is right,” Steve responded.  “Dealing with them second-hand through the agency was bad enough, but I don’t think I can keep a civil tongue in my head if I have to listen to some over styled pageant mom ask for a website with Curlz against a hot pink gradient to show off some ridiculously photoshopped pictures of a six year old who probably just wants to play on the monkey bars instead of wearing ten pounds of foundation and thirty pounds of tulle and rhinestones.   _ Fuck  _ clients, I can’t fucking stand them!”

“Okay, so you don’t want to do something with clients.  Let’s take graphic design off the table completely,” Bucky said as he led Steve over to the couch and pulled him into his lap.  “What else do you like to do with your time?”

“I miss art,” Steve said with a sigh.  “I used to want to be an illustrator, but when I got sick it was like all my creativity just drained away.  And I’d still be dealing with clients if I could actually find someone who wanted to pay me for my art, and I’d still be doing what they wanted me to do, and not creating what I want to create.”  

“You should draw me,” Bucky said with a wink.  “Draw me like one of your French girls.”

“Yea, like I’ve never heard that line before,” Steve responded, looking unimpressed.  

“But seriously, have you seen me?  People would pay money for this, Stevie.  I’ll be your live-in muse, and you can bless the world with art of my glorious naked form.  I won’t bother ever getting dressed, so as to provide you with maximum inspiration.”

Steve lost his battle to keep a straight face, and hid his laughter against Bucky’s chest.  “I think Bernie might object.  She has a firm ‘no nakedness or bodily fluids on the shared furniture’ rule.”

“Why Steven Grant Rogers!  I said absolutely nothing about bodily fluids.  Are you coming on to me?”

“I’m literally sitting in your lap, Buck.  Because you put me there, after taking off half your clothes.  I’m not sure you can pin the responsibility for this on me.”

“Well then,” Bucky said with a cocky grin.  “Why don’t we move this to somewhere more comfortable and see if you can find any inspiration in my pants.”

* * *

“I believe that my client will be willing to drop any further legal action in exchange for the settlement you’ve offered,” Bernie told the men sitting across the table from them.  Pierce was wearing his best “I’m not mad I’m disappointed” face, while Rumlow looked like he had been eating lemons.

“Wait,” Steve said after reading through the surprisingly generous offer.  “There’s one more thing I want.”

Bernie gave him a small frown and looked like she was doing her best to develop spontaneous telepathy for the sole purpose of shutting him up.  It was a look Steve was intimately familiar with; he had seen it on her more times than he was willing to admit.

“I’m not sure you understand how this works,” Rumlow started, but Pierce cut him off with a wave of his hand.  

“I would love to hear what Mr. Rogers has to say,” he said.

Steve grinned.  “I’m willing to sign this, accept your settlement, drop all legal action and promise to not take further action against you or your company again in the future, if you’re willing to throw in one more tiny thing for me.  It won’t cost you anything extra.”

Pierce’s eyes narrowed.  “Go on.”

“I want the ficus.  Rumlow’s ficus.”  Steve settled back in his chair, enjoying the gobsmacked expression on Rumlow’s face far more than he thought he would, which was saying something considering how he had imagined this moment.  Out of the corner of his eye he could see Bernie holding on to her professionalism by sheer force of will alone.  He wasn’t sure if she wanted to smack him or laugh, or possibly both - it was another expression he was intimately familiar with from the time when they had dated.

“A plant.  You want...a plant,” Pierce said slowly, as if testing the idea out.  “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Steve said with a nod.

“Done.”

“What?  But sir!” Rumlow said as he jumped out of his chair.  (He actually jumped out of his chair. Steve was pretty convinced that this was the best idea he had ever had.)

“Enough, Rumlow.  Go fetch the plant while we sign these papers, I just want to put this whole distasteful affair behind us.”

If Steve’s life had a soundtrack, the music playing behind him as he walked out of the building would have been soaring instrumentals, inspiring and triumphant.  In reality, the soundtrack of his life consisted of traffic noises behind Bernie’s increasingly irritated grumbling.

“I can’t believe you did that,” she said as they crossed the street to where Bucky was waiting.  “You fucking idiot, you could have fucked everything up, and then I’d be out a paycheck and you’d be out a settlement and Bucky would be out a boyfriend because I would have been forced to actually literally defenestrate you.”  She smacked him with her folder to emphasize the point.  “Over a stupid plant!”

“Ow!  And don’t insult Frank, he’s sensitive.”

“Frank?” Bucky asked as they joined them.  “Who the fuck is Frank, and why do you have a plant?”

“Frank is my ficus, a marvelous specimen of the species, and a trophy of my ultimate victory over that shitstain Rumlow.  Frank is the best ficus to ever live and - wait, is that a taco?  Bucky, did you get a  _ fucking death-taco _ while Bernie and I were in that meeting?”

Bucky looked more than slightly guilty.  “Maybe?  I mean, the truck was  _ right there _ , and they smelled so delicious, Stevie!  Don’t be mad, baby, you still mean more to me than tacos.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed.  “Traitor.  If that’s how you’re going to be, Frank and I are going to go celebrate by having a romantic candlelight dinner, alone, somewhere that isn’t going to kill me.”  

“No, please Stevie,” Bucky begged.  “Let me make it up to you, don’t leave me for Frank.  I promise I’ll treat you better than he ever could.”

“I don’t know, Buck,” Steve said as he looked back and forth between the plant and Bucky.  “Frank’s an awful good listener.  He doesn’t run his mouth nearly as much as you do.”

“Maybe not,” Bucky said with a grin that was frankly filthy.  “But I promise my mouth is better at...OW!”

Bernie tucked her folder back under her arm.  “That’s quite enough of that, don’t make me get a hose.  Now you both owe me Thai food for being an amazing lawyer, and ice cream for being an amazing roommate who puts up with your disgusting grossness.”

* * *

“Bored, bored, bored, bored,  _ bored _ !”  Steve threw himself face-down on the bed.  “Bucky, I’m so bored.  I don’t want to draw, I don’t want to go anywhere, I don’t want to watch a movie, I can’t cook anything else because the fridge is completely full, and I’m still bored.”

“Well,” Bucky said after a considering look.  “The fridge isn’t  _ completely _ full anymore.  I took a bunch of things to the group I used to bunk with, and I took those meatballs you made to the VA.  Wade almost cried when he ate them, it was beautiful.”

“Really?”  Steve looked pleased.  “Maybe I should cook, then.  We could make fritters, take them to the shelter.”

“We could do that,” Bucky said with a small smile, “but that’s what they call a short-term solution.  You need to look for something long-term too.”

“You learn that in therapy?” Steve asked.

“Yes I did, and I’m not ashamed of it.  Unemployment doesn’t suit you, Stevie, you’ve been climbing the walls for weeks, and while I have absolutely no problem with helping you work up a sweat, I hate seeing you tear yourself apart like this.”

“Jerk,” Steve said with a small smile.

“Punk.  I know you’ve been sketching a lot lately, you finding any inspiration there?”

“Nooooooo…”  Steve stood up quickly and started picking through the clothes on the floor.

“That doesn’t sound like a real no.  In fact, I’d say that sounds like deflection.”

“It’s stupid,” Steve said with a sigh.

“Hey!”  Bucky stood up and put his hand against Steve’s cheek.  “No talking shit about my best guy, you hear me?  It sounds like you’ve got an idea, and maybe it’ll work, and maybe it won’t, but you should talk to me about it.”

Steve leaned into his hand, soaking in both the warmth and the comfort Bucky was offering.  “Okay, so I’ve been cooking a lot lately.  And it’s been...it’s been kind of fun, and I really like being able to feed you and Bernie, and I’m kind of good at it too.”

“Yea you are,” Bucky said with a small huff of laughter.  

“But with my health issues, I wouldn’t want to work in a restaurant, even if I could find one that was completely gluten free.  I mean, sometimes I have shitty days, and I’d really like to have the option of staying in bed and not moving when everything is terrible.”

“Makes sense,” Bucky said with a nod.  “Restaurant work is hard, and you need to be reliable.  Calling out isn’t always an option.”

“Exactly,” Steve said with a nod.  “So I was thinking about what kind of cooking I could do where I’d actually get paid for it, but I could do on my own schedule, without answering to anybody else.”

Bucky whistled.  “Kind of a tall order, there.”

“I know,” Steve nodded.  “But…”  He trailed off again.

“What?”

“This is the stupid part.”

The look on Bucky’s face could only be termed as fond.  “Just tell me, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“You’re going to laugh at me.”

“Hand to heart, I promise I won’t laugh, Stevie.”

“Okay.”  Steve took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair.  “I couldn’t get that damn taco truck out of my head, and -”

He was cut off by Bucky’s laughter, deep and loud.  Steve frowned as Bucky kept laughing, hard enough that he was struggling for breath.  “You asshole, stop fucking laughing!  It’s not that funny!”

“Oh my god, Stevie, it kind of is.  You called them death-tacos!  You want a death-taco truck!”

“Frank didn’t laugh at my idea.  Frank is going to live in my food truck and keep me company since he’s the only one I know who isn’t a giant bag of dicks.”

Bucky wiped his eyes and looked over at Steve, a huge grin on his face.  “Seriously, Steve, it makes sense.  You could set your own schedule, have a menu that’s completely gluten free, do whatever you wanted.  And I could help out, takin’ orders and doing some of the prep and cooking.”

“You’d really want to help?”  Steve’s eyes were soft as he looked over at Bucky.

“‘Course I would, punk.  You know I’m with you, to the end of the line.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's been reading and commenting and leaving kudos - you've kept me going when this got hard, and I appreciate it more than I can say. This isn't the last of Steve and Bucky, or Bernie, or the rest of the Wilton's Bakery crew, so if you're interested in seeing what we've got planned, please consider subscribing. (So many plans. So many...)

**Author's Note:**

> You can come find me on [tumblr](http://machine-dove.tumblr.com/)!


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